Something Stupid
by reenka
Summary: Harry loses a bet to Draco, and has to go to a Ball as Draco's date. A Zabini. And a girl. This sounds like his worst nightmare, and really, it was-- for Draco. Silliness and hijinks and um. Insane slashy humor. H/D, strangely enough.


disclaimer: yes. it's mine. ahahah pulled one on ya, didn't i.  
  
warning: silliness, slash, fluff.  
  
author's note: for the `secret santa' project at `armchair slash'.  
  
dedication: to char. hope this is ok.  
  
  
  
~~Something Stupid.  
  
  
The time is right, your perfume fills my head, the stars get red and oh the night so blue.  
And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like "I love you."  
~~Frank Sinatra.  
  
  
They had been drunk. This is the only thing that Harry could come up with to tell himself, though it didn't really hold water, considering he could remember what happened pretty clearly, even on the morning after, which really shouldn't have been possible, given past experience. It -was- stronger stuff than he was used to. He was pretty sure, anyway. It was all gone, and so were both of their clothes, and Harry's common sense, apparently. Although one could make a case that it had been gone since he first had the vague thought that Malfoy didn't look all that bad in that silver-green cape of his. Perhaps Fred and George had been slipping some sort of drug in his food for years now. That would actually explain everything. Something prevented Harry from presenting this theory to Draco, regardless. It wasn't because he was so afraid of hurting his boyfriend's feelings. That had never been a problem. But -Harry- had a problem with being laughed at, especially by the insufferable Slytherin sharing emerald-green silk sheets with him on a regular basis.  
  
The bet had something to do with dressing up as a visiting relative of Zabini's and dancing with the winner all night, refusing all offers to dance from the loser's rival house, saying that members of said house could suck a certain non-existent appendage. Harry seemed to recall both of them had rolled around in gales of shrieking howling laughter at the images this scenario had conjured. And of course, quickly expressed their mirth by that most multifunctional and over-indulged of their activities. Shameless raiding of Snape's brandy stash. They really shouldn't have bet on who could keep it up the longest without touching. Draco was really a shoo-in, since Harry was a limp drunk.  
  
Draco was presently making a small speech, gazing into Harry's beautiful green eyes, licking his lips because Harry's eyes were endless, greener than emeralds, and dizzyingly pretty. "I always wanted someone pretty to be my date. Sure, they had to be pureblood and Slytherin and suitably mean, but most importantly, they had to be pretty. I could never consider anyone less beautiful than I." He shuddered.  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. "You've got to be joking."  
  
Draco snorted. "Me? Joke about beauty? Never!" He touched Harry's chin gently with a forefinger. "You are almost beautiful enough for the Ball, you know. I was thinking of Pansy. She knows how to dress, at least, which is more than I can say for -you-."  
  
"Um, Draco, you're scaring me. Since when have you become the biggest pansy in all of Slytherin?" Harry choked out, since he was now laughing hard enough to burst something, thinking of Draco's wonderful sense of priorities.  
  
"I'll have you know, Potter, that everyone thinks me the Prince of Slytherin. No one's ever called me a princess. It's going to stay that way, too," Draco said poutily.  
  
Harry giggled. "Right. So what was that about wanting me to be prettier? I'm willing to compromise if you'll give me something in return. If I become prettier, does that mean you become nicer?"  
  
Draco's eyes widened dramatically. "Me? Nicer?" he squeaked, looking indignant. "Never!"  
  
"Mmm-hmm," Harry said, looking supremely self-confident. "I know how to make you play nice, Oh Frightening One," Harry cooed, stalking over to Draco, making him back against the nearest wall.   
  
"Eek!" Draco squeaked, not liking the looks of this.  
  
"I've got you -now-, my pretty," said Harry, leering at Draco's sleek Seeker's stomach after lifting away his shirt. He licked a wide path downwards, and Draco mewled, fingers tangling in Harry's hair. "Say please," said Harry, pretending to be prim.  
  
"P-p-pleeeease," whined Draco.  
  
"See? You -can- play nice. You just need the right incentive."  
  
"Oh all right," panted Draco, feeling like he was going to forget about their little deal entirely and completely if Harry brought him any closer to lustful delirium. He had his priorities. They involved getting Harry in a dress and -then- having him take care of Draco's little problem. He twitched a little in anticipation. "Get dressed. I'll be good."  
  
Harry sat back on his heels, looking up at Draco and smiling. "Wow. You want this more than sex? Impressive. Oh, what the hell," he said, darting behind the curtains of Draco's bed and tying them closed. The clothes were spread out on the covers already, along with everything else Harry might need. Draco had been industrious while Harry slept, apparently. "No peeking now," he said, chuckling.  
  
"It's not like you've got anything I haven't seen already," Draco said peevishly.  
  
"Not anymore," Harry said, laughing.  
  
Draco gulped. His imagination was running away with him. He needed to put some distance between him and Harry right now, he decided, before he spoiled his own surprise and ravished Harry right then and there. There was the Ball to consider.  
  
He stood in the corridor, smoking cloves and scowling. His erection had gone down some time ago, after truly heroic efforts at picturing Bullstrode's oversized knickers. He felt traumatized, and Harry was truly taking forever. Girls were all alike, even fake girls. Draco didn't understand how anyone of the female persuasion could stand to call him vain without dying of hypocrisy on the spot. He sighed, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. Any hour now.  
~~  
  
Harry sighed in relief when he'd heard Draco leave. He really didn't feel right putting on a dress with Draco breathing heavily nearby. And Harry knew Draco would be breathing heavily. It really didn't take much, and he -had- picked out the dress, so it was probably to his taste. What was he thinking, of -course- it was to Draco's taste, it matched the sheets perfectly. Perhaps -too- perfectly. Harry fingered the smooth, sensuous silk of his intended garment, wondering if Draco was so cheap as to have made a house-elf make it from a spare set of sheets. He wouldn't put it past him. The boy was cheap, vain as he was.  
  
He needed a mirror. Being in Draco's own prefect's quarters had the distinct advantage of having mirrors covering every vaguely conceivable surface. Certainly one on every wall, one on the inside of the door, and one on the ceiling, right above the large, inordinately fluffy bed. Looking at himself in the dress, he thought something was missing. It draped over his hips nicely, yes, and it definitely set off his eyes-- Harry wasn't excessively conscious of his appearance, most times, but it was hard to ignore his eyes and the scar. If anything, no one let him forget. Even Draco liked to make jokes about Harry having the eyes of a Slytherin, mostly because it never failed to annoy Harry, and anything that annoyed Harry was Good Thing.  
  
He poked at the bunched-up fabric at his chest and frowned. It was a good thing his chest was flat, most days, but right now it was really sort of almost... embarrassing. Harry cast a lingering look at the wand lying so innocently on Draco's bed. Perhaps just a little gratuitous transfiguration couldn't hurt. Just to give himself a little curvature, a slight bounce perhaps. He'd feel more in character, and less like Harry Potter, and anything that made him feel less like himself had to be positive. With that thought in mind, Harry took to experimentation, beginning with his hair (longer, lighter, less like a mop and more like a feather duster, perhaps). Highlights were also easy and disturbingly fun. Harry now had blond streaks which he was quite proud of. Hermione probably didn't know he was this good at charms and transfiguration, considering his reticence at doing actual homework for the subjects. Still, it wasn't like he was asleep in class. Every day, anyway.  
  
It was a small step from there to fix his eye-color (how many people have that shade of green for eyes, anyway?) and then there was his scar (which was presently artfully covered up by a blonde curl slipping seemingly accidentally over his eye). Draco had thought to leave lip coloring in a little jar next to the hair brush and the sheer stockings-- and Harry really didn't want to know whether the finger-marks in it belonged to Draco, and why. He had a feeling the less he thought about any of this, the better.   
  
Time seemed to breeze by, and Harry was applying a careful sheen of red to his cheeks when he remembered Draco was probably getting antsy, waiting for him. Well, let him wait then, he thought. He did ask for this, and he was going to get it, whether he wanted to or not.  
~~  
  
When Harry came out, Draco was speechless. Harry simply didn't speak, brushing by the suddenly self-conscious boy with a disturbingly Malfoyesque regal air. Draco hadn't felt this dizzy and flushed since the time he first got into Harry's mouth, all those months ago as they were standing around, post-match, yelling at each other and pretending they didn't have to physically restrain themselves from tearing each other's clothes off. When did Harry become sexier than him? This was simply unforgivable, really. He was going to have to break up with him, for his own sanity. As soon as he shagged him about a zillion more times.  
  
Harry walked stiffly in his high heels, his hips swishing slightly, to his complete surprise. He didn't know he had hips, really. And his hair. It was a strange feeling, having it tickle the back of his shoulders, peculiarly soft and silky-feeling. He wasn't thinking about the breasts at all, he really wasn't. The dress felt nice-- smooth and velvety. Probably because it was velvet, though Harry didn't really differentiate between fabrics. As long as they didn't chafe in awkward places while he was playing Quidditch, for example, he was fine.   
  
"It really matches your eyes, you know," smirked the boy walking a slight distance behind him. He was probably checking out his arse, Harry thought with a slight purse of his lips. He was starting to understand the boy menace all the girls raved on about.   
  
"Pervert," said Harry distinctly.  
  
"What? Can't I compliment your dress? Don't be such a prude, Potter." He was smiling, Harry knew he was. He flipped his hair back, and walked quicker. The sooner this was over, the sooner he's going to cast that memory charm on Malfoy. He comforted himself with thoughts of just what kind of subliminal suggestions he could add to the charm. Maybe Draco could hold open doors for him for the next three weeks or so. Maybe he could owl his father and say he's got a sudden interest in the Beatles and he wants to know if his dear father had ever seen them in concert in his wild days of youth. Perhaps both.  
  
"I'm only a prude in comparison to the biggest pervert in Hogwarts, you wanker," said Harry, lifting up his dress primly as he ascended a flight of stairs, remembering not to take several at a time and thus give Draco a show. The blond nuisance that was his so-called boyfriend was going to have to work for it from now on. Oh, was he.  
  
"You're just pissy because I'm not the one wearing the dress. Admit it, you wanted to see me in those butterscotch ruffles and lace," snickered Draco.   
  
Harry felt his strings being pulled and he could do nothing to stop it. He was picturing Draco in garters and stockings and pale cream knickers in spite of himself. This wasn't very comfortable in his present choice of underwear, especially since adjusting himself was definitely out of the question.   
  
"You wish. I would've had you in thick black linen that covered up everything, including your bloody evil mouth," growled Harry, his irritation rising to a new high since he was suddenly seeing a tableau of increased frustration and negligent friction as the night wore on. Draco was really going to pay for this one. And how.  
  
Draco just laughed and pinched his bum. He was walking alongside Harry now, and looking askance at him, still wearing that smug-looking smirk. Damn him. Harry felt a headache beginning behind his eyes, especially now that he could hear the blaring wizard rock and the flashing lights shooting from underneath the door leading to the Ball.  
  
"No sex for a -week-, you bastard, and don't think I'm kidding," Harry said with feeling, starting to sweat. His disguise had better hold or he really could never leave Draco's bed ever again, and this time it wouldn't be because of Draco's technique.  
  
Draco didn't say anything, but one finger hooked behind Harry's pinkie, and stayed there. Almost unconsciously Harry leaned sideways into Draco, sighing slightly and wishing they could just forget about all of this (perhaps literally), and go to bed. Somehow though, he thought that Draco's sweet gesture had more to do with encouraging than soothing. Maybe it was the evil gleam that hadn't left his eyes. Harry decided to take advantage anyway, looping his arms around Draco's neck and burying his face in the other's shoulder. Draco trembled a little, inhaling the familiar scent of Harry mixed with powder and faint traces of lavender. His hands were running up and down the skin exposed by the low scoop at the back, and he was inhaling convulsively, as if he was suddenly addicted. Which he was rapidly becoming, even if he wasn't before.  
  
When they separated, they were both flushed, making them look embarrassingly pretty, or at least it would've been embarrassing if they weren't equally enthralled with each other's appearance. Harry wanted nothing more than to bring out the kiss-stung red on Draco's lips, to mark that pale, almost glowing pale skin with several other bursting red stains. Draco just stared at Harry's lips fixedly, as if he was committing them to memory, or perhaps making an in-depth study of several thousand of their essential qualities. This game of theirs began to seem rather flippant and silly in comparison to the much greater satisfaction of going back to Draco's room right then and throwing off all unnecessary pieces of clothing in record time-- that is to say, all of their clothing. But Draco had announced his impending presence at the Ball, and he had his reputation to consider. Draco Malfoy never missed a social function. That was just the way of things.  
  
"Right then. After you, my lady," Draco said, his voice only slightly lower and thicker than usual.  
  
Harry smirked and slid his arm through Draco's. He'd considered holding hands, but couldn't really bring himself to. Some things were just not done with a Malfoy, and hand-holding was definitely on that list. Harry lifted his chin, and wished he'd thought to wear sensible shoes. As always, hindsight was 20/20.   
~~  
  
Walking arm-in-arm down the last corridor on the way to the Ball, they almost ran into Snape, and immediately wished they hadn't. He thought he knew how Draco must've felt, seeing him, all of a sudden.  
  
Snape was wearing the tightest leather, clinging shamelessly to his endless, bony legs, wearing what appeared to be platform shoes-- because he definitely seemed to be even taller than usual. Harry had to tilt back his head, and it was just the shock that made his mouth go dry. And who wouldn't have been shocked? There was Severus Snape, striding towards them, wearing a black silk cape attached to the back of his rather clingy shirt, which slid between his legs with every step he took. Not to mention the glittering black platform shoes which narrowed to a point sharp enough to give one pause. Harry didn't usually want to step too close to Snape, but now he definitely had a whole new world of reason.  
  
If anything, if he got any closer, those smoldering pitch-black eyes of his might... notice something. And Harry was certain the less those eyes noticed, the better. Draco's hold on his arm tightened imperceptibly, and he fancied he could feel a growl resonating against his side. Draco knew competition when he saw it. Harry fought off a high-pitched giggle which would doubtless make Snape blanch and say something devastating. Or perhaps devastatingly sexy.  
  
Harry felt like slapping himself, wishing he -was- feeling himself for the first time in the last couple of hours. That had to be mascara the Professor was wearing. It had to be. And was that eye-shadow?  
  
Draco pulled him along before he had the chance to say much more than his initial, shaky hello. Just as well. Snape was starting to hiss, nearly silently, but Harry could hear it. Like the sound of a wildcat, far-off in the depths of the forest. His toes were buzzing in his high heels. Harry decided he needed a drink as soon as possible. Fortunately, he was headed to the right place. As of now, anyway.   
~~   
  
He'd been fending off a fair number of blokes the past half hour or so, but not nearly so much as Draco was. It was almost like everyone knew this was a charade, this shameless hussy on Draco's arm. Almost like everyone knew Draco was gay. Whatever could've given them -that- idea. It couldn't have been the frilly shirts, or the screaming matches about hair products, or the time he fainted in Potions because he broke a nail. Although Draco would deny that bit about the broken nail. He would say that he was too careful for something that plebian to happen to him, especially in Potions. Plus he made sure to trim his nails every day, to keep accidents away and of course, to maintain the beauty of his hands. And Harry had no idea why he'd know that.  
  
He was having fun kissing Draco's cheek in public and giggling girlishly, though he mostly trusted in his fixed idea about memory charms and complex revenge plans involving pickles, whipped cream, blindfolds, and caviar. He wasn't too sure on the specifics.   
  
Colin Creevey's insistent voice was kind of putting a damper in Harry's fantasies, anyway. What was he saying, again?  
  
"You're pretty. Stylish. And I like your arse," said Colin, leering at Harry.   
  
Harry had no arguments, of course, but a bet was a bet. "And you can suck my cock," he said pleasantly, smiling brightly at the shorter boy. Colin flushed an intriguing shade of beet red, and ran away without even trying to look dignified. Draco was holding his middle desperately, he was laughing so hard.  
  
"He wishes," he gasped out.  
  
"Eeeeew, Draco. That was -so- uncalled for," Harry said, going for indignant and ending up with hugely amused. He couldn't believe he'd said that, but strangely, it felt sort of good. Colin had always kind of annoyed him, especially now that he'd had that internship at the Prophet. As far as Harry was concerned, Colin was shaping up to be more insiduously devious than any Slytherin. And he still didn't think of that as a compliment. He pointedly refused to think any more on that, and had some fun fluttering his eyelashes at Draco and making him swear and look flustered and uncomfortable.  
  
"You're having -way- too much fun with this, Potter. That wasn't part of the deal," whined Draco, trying not to smile at Harry's eyes twinkling prettily beneath thick, fluttering lashes.  
  
"You know what they say. Happiness is the best revenge. Or something like that, anyway," Harry said airily, batting away the fringe from his eyes.  
  
Pansy approached them suddenly, glaring at Harry. "And who might -you- be?" she demanded, stamping her foot a little. Harry thought her make-up looked really artificial, somehow. His own look was soft and natural, while hers was forced and glaring and ugly. And Draco couldn't possibly find anything to like about it. Could he?   
  
Harry looked away, trying to look haughty. "Hellooo? I'm talking to you," Pansy said, ever the no-nonsense Slytherin. Harry had a feeling Pansy would know he wasn't a girl if he spoke. There was just something about those calculating, narrow little eyes. What did Draco ever see in her, anyway? Harry felt a brood session coming on.  
  
"Don't mind her, dear, she's a bit dull, if you know what I mean. Hear she's good in the sack, though," Draco drawled, glancing sideways at Harry and smiling widely.  
  
"You don't mean--" stuttered Pansy.  
  
"That we've shagged? Of course not. I just met her today. A flirty bird, she is," Draco said, restraining what appeared to be a giggle. Pansy's eyes widened dramatically.  
  
"He's just saying that so I'd shag him in out of outrage," Harry said, feeling an attack of bitchiness he didn't know he possessed.  
  
"Aww, come on, I wouldn't need to say anything to get you to shag me. I'd just whistle," Draco said, casting a playful look Harry's way. Harry wasn't falling for it. Pansy, on the other hand, seemed uncommonly interested.  
  
"Do tell," she said simperingly, seeming to have overcome her jealousy in favor of juicy gossip. Harry was quite sure that was worse.  
  
"What he means is, he'd be whistling out of boredom because I'd be gone and he'd be needing to keep his hand entertained as he wanked," Harry theorized.  
  
Pansy seemed to choke on her spit, while Draco did his best to look completely outraged at his date's shocking use of the word "wank" in mixed company. Harry felt quite liberated, actually. He wasn't wearing a bra, for one thing, and those temporary lumps of fat one could call breasts if one was feeling kindly were quite useful in pretending he wasn't actually himself. Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, would never grow fake breasts for two hours to amuse his boyfriend. Come to think of it, Harry Potter would never have a boyfriend. Half the school population was certain he was dating Hermione in some sort of really disgusting time-share arrangement with Ron. Half the school population was also obviously completely nutters. Harry didn't feel he needed to enlighten them on that fact, but it was comforting being aware of it, so that he could ignore all their other insane theories with ease. For instance, Dumbledore actually -wasn't- the Dark Lord in disguise. This prevented a lot of nightmares for Harry, and also the need to ask embarrassing questions of Dumbledore. Harry rather preferred to avoid those.  
  
"Excuse us, we need to have a little chat," Draco hissed, tugging Harry away into a shadowy corner with uncalled-for force.   
  
"Why do you need to be so bloody -difficult-," he said, as soon as he had Harry backed tightly into a corner, nose-to-nose not so very far from a mistletoe. Draco didn't seem to have noticed, but Harry considered it a cute excuse for shutting the other boy up with extreme prejudice and use of tongue. He was so cute when he was angry. Of course, Harry only thought so when he had the leisure of knowing that he wouldn't dare even raise his voice to a -girl-, his -date- no less, in -public-. Still, it was nice to just watch Draco bubble over with no relief in sight. Harry had to refrain from pinching his cutely flushed cheeks or otherwise betraying his silly mood. It wouldn't do to hurt Draco's feelings right now. He'd be less adorable then.  
  
"You know you love it," Harry said, instead.  
  
"Love it?" exclaimed Draco. "Love it? I hate it! I hate you! Why in the world did I ever think taking you -anywhere- was a good idea? I'm a complete idiot. As a boy you're shaggable, at least, but this-- this-- this is simply unredeemable!" His Malfoy glare was turned full force upon Harry now, and he was feeling a bit flushed himself. `Is it suddenly hotter in the room or is he just toying with me?' he wondered. He couldn't possibly be -unaware-....  
  
He pushed against the other's hips, smiling slightly, making Draco gasp. "Why do you always have to ruin my fun, Potter?" he whined, though he wasn't really complaining strenuously, seeing as how Harry was making him forget whatever it was that was annoying in the first place. Draco had long practice at holding on to his annoyance, but with Harry, it wasn't as easy as it should've been.   
  
"Shhh! Put a cork in it, someone's coming," Harry whispered, somewhat loudly, as he tried to elegantly disentangle his hips from Draco's. It was a good thing the dress had a full skirt, otherwise he really couldn't have fooled a nearsighted old lady like this. And this was no nearsighted old lady. This was Ron. Harry thought he could've died right then and there, but somehow he kept standing. And then Ron asked him to dance.  
  
"Is Malfoy giving you trouble, Miss...?" Ron began, quite gallantly. For Ron.  
  
Harry tried not to choke, disguising his sudden outburst of sound with a hand against his mouth. He had to bite on it, seeing the look in Ron's eyes. He felt bad for Hermione, because there was just no way to mistake that look. Harry wished there was a way, he really did, but there wasn't. He felt himself flush brightly, his ears burning. He had to think fast.  
  
"Er-- Zabini. Blaise's cousin. Visiting. And no, he isn't. If you'll excuse me... bathroom..." Harry tried to somehow walk away with dignity, leaving both his headaches behind, but Ron trailed after him, while Draco stood back, his arms crossed and a decidedly evil smirk glinting in his eyes. Harry added yet another two weeks without sex to his mental score-card.  
  
"I'd still like to dance with you. If you don't mind, that is," Ron said, sounding even more like a complete idiot than before. Harry felt like he'd just eaten a particularly oily slug. He really couldn't bring himself to tell Ron to suck his anything. And he really didn't feel like seeing what Draco's idea of "punishment" was for breaking the rules of their little bet. There was only one thing to do.  
  
"Er, Ron.... I'm not who you think I am," said Harry, quite clearly he thought, if somewhat under his breath.  
  
"What was that?" Ron said, sounding concerned, and taking this opportunity to put a friendly hand on Harry's arm.   
  
"I -said- this is Harry, you git. Harry. And get your hand off my bloody arm!" he cried, jerking the protesting limb away as he said it.  
  
Ron laughed and laughed, sounding like that was the funniest thing he'd heard all day. "Harry! Oh that's a good one. Harry!" he gasped. "Don't let Harry hear you say that, Zabini," he grinned.  
  
"Oh, come off it, Ron. Am I -that- bloody hard to recognize under the make-up? And what are you doing, trying to pick up strange girls, anyway? Where is Hermione?" Harry said, quite confident that the best defense was an offense. In this instance, definitely.  
  
Ron's mouth dropped open, and he stared wordlessly for a few moments. Perhaps this wasn't the best idea he's ever had, Harry thought distantly. Oh well, too late now.  
  
"H-Harry?" Ron croaked, leaning in closer to Harry's face, blinking rapidly. If he gets any closer, I'm really going to take a step back, whatever that might do to my self-respect. The idea of kissing Ron, even accidentally, just in case Ron decided to "double-check" his claim of not being agirl, wasn't really something he looked forward to. "What happened to your -hair-?" he said, his mouth beginning to twitch.  
  
"Nothing! Nothing happened to my hair. Nothing at all. Do you understand? Nothing." Harry hoped he'd repeated that enough to get through to his often thick-headed friend. Nothing, indeed.  
  
"Oh," said Ron. "I think I understand," he said dubiously, even though it was beyond obvious that he didn't. Of course, Harry didn't understand himself, and until right then, he'd thought that was actually something of a good thing.  
  
"Nothing happened to my eyes, either, unlike -you- I might add," said Harry, trying desperately to change the subject.  
  
It worked. Ron blushed, and in any case, by then it seemed that Draco had tired of not-so-surreptiously watching them, and was in fact approaching with his customary swagger.  
  
"Hey. Don't get any Weasley cooties on my woman, Weasel," Draco said loudly, smirking confidently in the knowledge that Harry couldn't defend his friend. He still hadn't grown out of baiting Harry by badmouthing his friends. Harry thought he was probably never going to grow out of it, or anything else for that matter. Why he was with him was a rather large mystery to all involved. Today moreso than some other days, at that.  
  
Harry wasn't baited this time, however. He chuckled. "He knows," he said, simply.  
  
Draco spluttered, going rather paler (as well as greener) than was normal, and looked around him, as if expecting the whole Hall to turn on him suddenly and give him detention onto eternity for sullying Harry Potter's precious masculinity. "Don't worry, he won't tell. He knows Hermione would find out he asked a Zabini to dance," he said, still laughing.  
  
Ron burbled. "Thanks a -lot-, Harry. We were supposed to be best mates! I guess now I know where your loyalties lie," he said bitterly, turning to walk away. Harry would've been hurt by this, except for the lack of vehemence in Ron's voice as he tried to save face in front of Malfoy. Boys were really stupid, he thought philosophically.  
  
"You better be right about Weasley, Potter. Or it's blowjob duty for you," Draco said menacingly.  
  
"Yeah, yeah. You're all talk, Malfoy," Harry said, leaning back against the wall with the knowledge that his fake cleavage was even more impressive that way. He supposed he should've been disturbed by this show of latent heterosexuality, but somehow it was okay, as long as Draco was only heterosexual about -him-. It didn't matter if that made any sense, either, because it made him feel good to think it.  
  
"You know you love it, Potter," Draco said coyly, in what was probably a conscious echo of Harry's earlier taunt. Harry smiled.  
  
"Yeah. I guess I do. I'm in a dress, aren't I. That's a pretty big show of love, right there," Harry said, feeling rather good all of a sudden. Everything felt -right- somehow, even though he was in high heels, and his knickers were riding up his arse. Draco was smiling at him, and even if the breasts he was groping at the same time were fake, the smile wasn't.   
  
"So kiss me, you fool," Draco drawled, grinning even wider. Harry felt rather light-headed, sort of like his dress was too tight, and the air was too thick, except it wasn't. Draco had really white teeth, he thought distantly.  
  
"You always ask so nicely," Harry murmured, just before their lips met in full sight of most of the hormonal population of Hogwarts. Several people needed fans, though neither of the two love-birds noticed. Harry's breasts chose that moment to deflate, and one of his high heels broke when he leaned on it too heavily, and his carefully placed blonde curl got displaced dangerously, but he didn't care. Draco's lipstick tasted really good.  
  
"Aww, young love," Hermione said.  
~~ 


End file.
